


You taught me the courage of stars

by random_firework



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt Sam, M/M, Season/Series 08, Worried Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_firework/pseuds/random_firework
Summary: Light carries on endlessly, even after death. And I’ll whisper your name into the sky, to hear you say one more time that the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Wincest Writing Challenge of October 2016. The theme was "Men of Letters" and I chose a room of the Bunker, the observatory. 
> 
> The title comes from the marvelous Saturn by Sleeping At Last. I mixed it with lyrics from As I Lay Me Down by Sophie B. Hawkins for the summary.

Sam had always loved the stars. Maybe it was growing up on roads across the country or maybe it was just his nerdy personality. But the sure thing was that he had always been passionate about them. So Dean wasn’t shocked when the first room Sam ran to when they discovered the Bunker was the observatory. He wasn’t really surprised either when he found shelter in it as the Trials began. Sam kept pretending everything was okay, but the more time he spent in the small room, eyes pressed against the telescope, the more Dean worried. He knew that Sam was hiding something from him but he couldn’t figure out what, or why.

 

One evening, after dinner, Dean broached the subject as nonchalantly as he could.

“What are you doing locked up in that room every night anyway?”

His brother watched him with a confused puppy dog look for a second or two before answering. “Watching the stars?”

“Every night?”

Sam’s eyes harden and he retorted, a little too vehemently not to be defensive: “You got a problem with that?” 

“No, but I got a problem with you shutting me out.”

“I’m not shutting you out, Dean! Jesus Christ, everything’s not about-” A coughing fit interrupted his sentence. Dean watched it happen, concerned. It seemed to occur often these days. Once it was over, Sam looked at his fist, pallid. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes.” Sam’s voice had lost all of his previous self-protective tone. He avoided Dean’s eyes as he got up from the table. “I just need some space, Dean,” he added before leaving the kitchen.

 

When Dean woke up the next morning to find Sam asleep, slouched on the wooden chair in front of the telescope, he decided to take action. He didn’t want his brother to turn away from him even more, so he began carefully. He waited for Sam to be awake and replaced the chair by a comfortable armchair, along with a soft blanket they had stolen from a motel when they were kids and had kept with them all this time. That wasn’t much but if it could avoid back pain to his brother and keep him warm, it was at least something.

Sam acted strange during the whole hunt. Cagey attitude, coughs, runs to the bathroom – these things had become the norm, and Dean had learned, for the sake of the hunts and their relationship, to turn his eyes away and to play dumb. The talk in the car, however, _that_ shook Dean. He didn’t let it show. Couldn’t. But he dwelled on Sam’s words all the way back to Lebanon. _‘Maybe I was being naive.’ ‘The life chose for them.’_ It wasn’t good.

Sam’s feet seemed to be as heavy as his when they went down the stairs to the Bunker. Dean fought a sudden and fleeting want to hold his brother’s hand. But it was stupid. Why would he hold his brother’s hand? Instead, he let him go ahead towards the observatory entrance, where he stopped for a second before turning back to him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean wanted to ask. _Why are you keeping things away from me?_ But Sam was smiling at him for the first time in days, and he didn’t want to ruin that, so he smiled back and let him go to his shelter.

Once his brother was out of sight, Dean went to his own room and sat on the edge of his bed. Weariness overcame him. 

“Cas, you got your ears on?” Foolishly, he looked up, hoping that something – a sign, whatever – would appear and show him that he wasn’t completely alone in this. And that everything would be okay. “Listen, you know I am not one for praying, 'cause in my book it's... it's the same as begging. But this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me.”

 

Sam’s behavior suddenly made sense when Dean found a bloody tissue in the trashcan, but he didn’t change it for all that. He didn’t hide his bloody coughs or his tiredness as much but he spent even more time in the observatory, burying his nose in books and sky charts. It was scary. Dean wasn’t stupid. He knew that yes, Sam was a smart kid and had always loved to study, but he also knew that it was never a good sign when he started geeking his ass off like that. His brother was drifting away from him and he didn’t know what to do.

 

Then came the second Trial. It hit Sam, hard. If Dean was worried before, it was worse now. If he listened to his instincts, he would have glued himself to his brother and never let go of him. Instead, each night, he joined Sam in the observatory and stood there, leaning against the brick wall, just watching him for hours. He didn’t mind. Strangely, he kept thinking about when, years ago, Sam had almost been killed by a Shtriga, because of him. After that, he had promised himself he would never put Sam’s life in danger again. These trials were just another proof of how he had failed to keep this promise. Keeping an eye on him through it all was the least he could do.

Sam didn’t seem to mind his presence either. Dean was rather discreet. The only words that got out of his mouth were always the same, at the same hour every night.

“Time for bed, little brother.” 

 

The night following their hunt with Charlie, Dean was at the threshold, observing Sam, who was shivering despite the blanket on his sloping shoulders, when his voice surprised him.

“Watcha looking at?” his little brother asked without tearing off the telescope. 

“What _cha_ looking at?” Dean echoed, more as a habit than anything. 

Sam turned towards him with a hint of a smile. “Actually…” he began. He rose and gestured to the chair. “You should see it for yourself.”

Dean, perplexed, threw a look to his brother. He didn’t know squat about astronomy, after all. But Sam nodded so he took place and stuck his eyes against the telescope anyway. He didn’t search long and laughed when he fell on the recognizable star cluster. 

“The pastalletion! Awesome…” 

As he stood up to let the seat back Sam, he noticed a worn out astronomy book on the floor. He picked it up and stared at his brother in disbelief. 

“You still have this?”

“Well sometimes I have to…go back to bases, I guess.”

Dean leafed through the book. He had bought it for Sam’s eleventh birthday with the money from his summer job at a garage he had been able to save. His brother had started to develop a moral sense and Dean had been proud to be able to surprise Sam with a gift he had bought and wrapped up himself, and not stolen at a gas station.

“I guess it’s good book, then.”

“It is. I’ll always love your names more though.”

“These names were stupid…” Dean laughed.

“Are you kidding? The pastalletion? The big snot? Jim’s shovel? They were awesome!”

Dean’s heart clenched. Sam’s eyes were shining a little more than they had been these past weeks. Just for the hell of it, he threaded his fingers through his hair.

“Come on, time for bed, little brother.”

 

A new routine settled in this almost domestic life they had had going for a few weeks. Dean continued to join Sam in the observatory and ended up more often that not pulling a chair to sit next to his brother. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t, but no matter what Sam was doing, Dean lightly rested his fingers somewhere on Sam’s body – shoulder, arm, hair, leg… anything to feel his brother alive under his hand.

“I feel serene,” Sam stated one night. “When I’m here. I feel peaceful,” he clarified. His thumb unconsciously stroked the binding of the book he was holding, betraying his tension. Dean soothed his hand to silently encourage him to continue.

“You told me once, when we were watching the stars after Caleb’s brother died, that people never really…leave us. That they become stars. I know that’s not true but… You also talked about Mom that night, for the first time. About how she was a star too now. So I guess…I feel a little closer to her, when I look up at the sky. To Jess too. And now Sarah…” Sam cleared his throat. “You’re right. We’re gonna do it. Shut down Hell. But if I don’t survive it, Dean-”

“You’re not gonna die, Sam,” Dean said firmly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I know! ‘Cause I won’t let it happen!”

“Come on Dean, cut the crap,” Sam sighed. “I’m not nine anymore. We both know what the risks are. Just know that, when – _if_ the time comes soon…I’m okay with it.”

Dean kept his mouth shut. They were both exhausted. And Sam was right. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He didn’t know if he could save his brother this time.

“Well I’m not,” he mumbled after some time.

“I don’t ask you to be. I just ask you to let me have the courage to do this. You’re the one who taught me everything, Dean. _You_ taught me to be brave.”

Tears prickled the corner of Dean’s eyes. What he suddenly realized at this moment wasn’t that much of a surprise. It was logical, even. Still, his heart pounded in his chest. “Sammy…” 

“I know. I love you, too.” 

Dean looked at his brother. He really _looked_ at him. In the deep grey blue of his eyes, he found the little boy he invented constellations and stories for; the teenage boy he had given everything to; the man he had loved against all odds, for better or for worse. 

It was strange to kiss him, after all this time. And it was kind of amazing how, after spending their life together, there was still a part of Sam he hadn’t touched yet. He took his time discovering it, tenderly. Sam’s mouth was sweet despite the silvery aftertaste of blood. Blood. In Sam’s mouth. With a sudden urge, Dean pressed a hand against his brother’s chest. The familiar heartbeat – wasn’t it the same as his, after all? – warmed him up. Sam gripped his wrist and hold it there while he pulled back. His cheeks were wet but his dimples meant more than that. _I’m still alive._

The beeps of Dean’s watch interrupted the flow of his thoughts. 

“Time for bed, big brother?”

“Yeah…”

Dean interlaced their fingers tightly. He was never going to let go.

 

But he had to, eventually. 

He wasn’t supposed to be gone that long. Not eight fucking hours, at least. _‘If I'm not back in eight hours, finish it, no questions, no hesitation.’_ His brother’s death was on him. That’s what he repeated to himself again and again, while he held him tightly against him on the cold stoned floor of the abandoned church. The echoes of thousands of angels falling resonated around them, making the ground shake. When it stopped, Dean gingerly kissed his brother’s forehead. Under his lips, Sammy was colder than he had ever been the last days, when he was pressed against his chest in bed. 

He only became aware of Crowley’s presence when he rose to his feet to help him carry Sam to the car. There, they shared a look that should have been noteworthy – a human recognizing the other as his equal. But Dean couldn’t care less. 

“Dean.” There were genuine tears in the fallen King of Hell eyes – wasn’t that ironic? “If you need…” 

Dean shook his head. He knew what he needed to do next, and he knew he needed to do it alone. So he got into the car and just rolled; rolled for hours with the corpse of his baby brother in the backseat, indifferent to the sun rising and setting on the road before him.

 

The forest field was exactly like Dean remembered it. It was the right place to do this.

He built up the pyre, carried his brother up there, salted it and lighted a match that he threw in the heap of wood. Only then, he allowed himself to collapse. He fell on his knees and looked up at the sky. 

The fire illuminated the area with a different light than the fireworks they had launched in this very same field on the Fourth of July 1996, but the sky was the same, as clear, as starry.

And maybe Dean was going out of his mind, but he swore he saw a new star appear in the sky as the fire consumed the body of his little brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing like a good old angsty ficlet, right?  
> Thank you for reading :) Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
